


there is no substitute

by Zerrat



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Cracktastic premise, F/F, Humour, Noxians flirt in weird ways, pre-exile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2336981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrat/pseuds/Zerrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Riven's usual sparring partners stop showing up, she knows that Katarina Du Couteau has something to do with it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is no substitute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [multishep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/multishep/gifts).



> For my buddy Shep, who is a champ and deserves all the love on her birthday!

It had become somewhat of a custom for Riven to meet Sion for some early morning practice between tours. The man would rarely grant Riven the honour of sparring himself; no, he much preferred to find her combatants with an unusual skew or talent. Mages, assassins, mechanical monstrosities on loan from Zaun - they all gave her something new. 

Riven was normally grateful for the effort Sion put into keeping things interesting, though this time... well, perhaps he'd been hit too hard in the head during his last spar with Darius.

Sion's latest "challenge" was a redhead. She couldn't be more than a couple of years younger than Riven, mid teens at the most, and she walked with a swagger arrogant enough to put most Noxians to shame. Riven cast Sion a single look - _are you serious?_

"A sword, huh? You know, my little sister plays with those," Riven's new opponent drawled, a hand on her hip, her smirk widening as she looked Riven up and down. "You won't even be a challenge."

The redhead was clearly a talker, seemingly besotted with her poor concept of sledging. Really, it revealed more about her opponent's own weaknesses than anything else - the redhead was proud, almost sickeningly so. 

Riven was going to enjoy taking this one down a few pegs - that had to be what Sion's purpose here was. Irritating, but understandable. Clearly the redhead needed it.

Without further word, Riven tipped her head in a shallow bow, hefting her wooden practice sword. It was more for Sion's benefit than out of any respect for her opponent, but the irritating redhead didn't even bother with that much. Instead, the redhead snorted, brandishing dual melee practice knives and sinking into a combat stance. 

Riven's eyes narrowed. The redhead's centre of gravity was off just slightly - probably more arrogance than poor training technique, but for Riven's purposes, even such a small flaw was enough to exploit. 

_Your ass is mine,_ Riven thought as Sion began the match with a lazy wave of his hand. 

The bout itself lasted for less than a few seconds, blinding fast momentum that was more reaction than true technique - before Riven pivoted beneath the upstart's guard and sent her flying clean across the mats. 

Vaguely, Riven could hear scattered applause from the side of the training rooms. Her 'fans' would often come to watch her practice, but never before had they bothered with such a vapid show of support. It made her pause and wonder exactly who she was taking down a peg - but really, she didn't give a damn.

Riven resettled her stance, bring her wooden sword up in a guard as she watched her opponent curse and throw herself to her feet. The smirk on the her lips was gone, those green eyes narrowed. Without waiting for Sion to give the signal to begin the next round, the redhead lashed forward.

Suppressing a sigh, Riven allowed it. Her oppenent was angry now, useless emotion ruling her, practically bleeding from her in waves no matter how she tried to mask it. It was even easier to bait her opponent's attacks this time, to feint on one side but attack with the other. 

What a _fool_. Riven was going to have words with Sion, for wasting her time teaching this redhead a lesson she should have learned long ago.

Riven didn't even bother using her sword to finish it - she ducked back half a step and her opponent over-extended slightly, suddenly crucially off-balance. Riven sank her boot deep into the redhead's gut, this time launching her so hard that those dual daggers clattered to the mat. The blow would _hurt_ \- her opponent would be lucky to walk away with some cracked ribs. 

Still, the redhead would not stay down. She rose to her feet more slowly, and though she didn't clutch at her ribs or even whimper, the tense set to her jaw spoke of pain. Her eyes weren't angry anymore, and though the girl's lips were pulled in a scowl, the brutality of second round seemed to have settled her down. 

Well, Riven could admire a little tenacity, but wherever Sion had found this one, she was patently outclassed. The redhead was still flawed in tiny, crucial ways that made it far too easy to break through a block, to turn a sure strike into a mistake. Her opponent lacked attention to detail, and that what where Riven excelled. 

As Riven began to circle her opponent for the last time, she held her sword loosely, searching for yet another critical error. She tested her opponent's defences in lightning quick jabs, keeping her tense and on the backfoot. 

This time, the redhead kept up better. Without guidance, she began correcting the complacent turn of her foot to firm up her stance, watching Riven's movements with a flat, assessing stare. Riven kept circling her, silent, only letting the ghost of a smirk grace her lips. Her opponent's mouth thinned then, her nostrils flaring and her guard dropping for a moment -

Right as Riven flashed forward to end it, the damn redhead's hand moved. 

"Du Couteau!" Sion barked, but the warning came too late. White-hot pain bloomed in Riven's shoulder, her wooden sword clattering to the mats, warm blood bubbling up and soaking through her shirt. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a wrapped knife hit protruding from her flesh.

A knife. Live goddamn _steel_ in a training session. Riven looked back to her opponent, to Du Couteau, still struggling to process it. From the curve of the redhead's lips, she looked satisfied with the outcome, no matter the underhanded tactic. 

Well, Riven could appreciate a dirty trick just as much as she could tenacity. She wanted to laugh at the audacity, but instead she wrapped her fingers around the hilt and jerked it free. Vibrant red blood coated the blade from tip to hilt.

 _Not bad._ Riven raised her eyes to Du Couteau, and very deliberately slipped the knife into her belt. 

"I'll keep this," Riven told her, lip curling. On the sidelines, Sion was shaking his head, looking at a loss for words. Riven wasn't sure which of them was more responsible - Du Couteau for ignoring the rules of the training match, or Riven for just yanking out the blade. 

Probably both. Sion tended to be generous in that way. 

Du Couteau's gaze didn't flicker at Riven's claim on her knife, and she shrugged, as if it hardly mattered to her. 

"Next time, I won't miss."

Riven snorted, and she looked to the spectators that had gathered about the training mats. Without bothering to comment, she gestured around at them all, rubbing salt into Du Couteau's wounded pride. Du Couteau's green eyes flashed in outrage, but this time she held her tongue. 

_Fast learner. Not fast enough, though,_ Riven noted, shaking her head once before saying aloud, "There won't be a next time." 

With that, Riven dismissed Du Couteau from her attention entirely, done with the practice bout and done with her opponent. She wasn't going to waste her time on an arrogant upstart, Noxian nobility be damned. 

_Katarina Du Couteau, though. That explains a whole lot._

###

Despite Riven's best efforts, Du Couteau and the frustrating mess of a training session played on her mind thoughout the next week. Even facing her usual variety of opponents - Theo, Lex, Arryn, Ava - her mind still flickered back to that irritating redhead. 

What seemed to gall her the most wasn't so much Du Couteau's flaws - it was more that she was arrogant without proper cause. Perhaps it was to be expected. Noxian nobility did somewhat run counter to the hallmarks of modern Noxian ideals - strength, no matter the source - so Riven's view of Du Couteau's whole entitled upbringing could be best described as 'dim'. 

All that money, power, _prestige,_ and it only went to that idiot's head as she played at assassin. If Du Couteau's father hadn't been such a good general, Riven might have dismissed the household entirely. 

When Riven trudged into the training rooms early the next week and her gaze fell on a very distinctive head of red hair, she only barely suppressed a groan. Du Couteau was standing next to Sion - so there was really no guessing what her purpose was in showing up - and she was tossing a knife up and down, catching it between her thumb and forefinger in a lazy, confident sort of fashion. 

It was the same type of knife as the one Du Couteau had nailed Riven's shoulder with the week prior - the healed wound twinged somewhat in response. Riven's lips thinned, and she approached Sion with anger brewing deep in her chest. 

Du Couteau's smirk widened as Riven approached, never ceasing her relentless motion with her knife. The threatening gesture put Riven on edge, damn her, but she was ready to catch any flying blades this time. 

"Round two," Du Couteau drawled, her green eyes narrowing. "I sure hope you're ready, golden girl."

Riven ignored her. Apparently she hadn't kicked Du Couteau's ass hard enough for the lesson in humility to stick. Instead, she addressed Sion. 

"Where is Theo? He was scheduled for today." 

Sion merely shrugged his massive shoulders. "Something about his stomach."

He offered no further detail on exactly what that implied, and Riven sure as hell wasn't going to ask for it. She looked back to Katarina Du Couteau reluctantly, allowing a long sigh to pass her lips. 

"Try to be more of a challenge, this time," Riven said, rolling the shoulder Du Couteau had injured just to make the point. 

Du Couteau didn't miss it - her expression darkened dangerously. This time, Riven was ready, catching the thrown knife well before it drew her blood. Without comment, she tossed it back to Katarina's feet, letting her disgusted expression speak for itself. 

All arrogance aside, apparently last week's curb-stomp had actually given Du Couteau something to think about in that huge mansion of hers. No longer was she daring to take Riven for granted, assuming her skill and lightning-fast reflexes would be enough. No longer was she simply assuming she was _better_. 

Even before the match truly began and they offered one another mocking bows of respect before sinking into stances, it was clear to see Du Couteau had been working hard. She'd corrected many of the subtle flaws Riven had so brutally shoved in her face. She was watchful and assessing as she waited for Riven to attack, using her brain for once. 

And given how uniquely creative Du Couteau was proving herself with those practice melee knives alone, Riven had to admit that perhaps there _was_ a hell of a mind beneath all that over-confident, self-satisfied swagger. Du Couteau was far more of a challenge this time, and now Riven had to work to catch her. 

The first bout ended in a stalemate as Sion called time, but the next finished as Du Couteau nailed Riven right in the ribs with her practice knives. Fair and square, out-fought and out-thought, for all that Riven's sharp overhead sweep would have killed Du Couteau too, had they been in a real battle. 

Riven's blood was pounding in her ears, her breath short and laboured as she watched Katarina smile up at her, the expression vicious and pleased with even a pyrrhic victory. Riven's eyes followed the girl as she straightened, immediately backing off several paces to begin the next round. 

Du Couteau was a piece of work - that much Riven had become sure of. 

_Not bad at all._

###

"What do you mean, Lex isn't coming?" Riven asked Sion in a low, dangerous voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she examined Du Couteau, caught somewhere between consternation and exasperation. 

Again, Riven's usual training partner had mysteriously failed to show up, and again, Katarina was the only substitute Sion had been able to dig up on short notice. 

Sion shrugged, as though this whole fiasco was perfectly normal and not completely ridiculous. "Something about a family emergency, if I recall."

Riven shot him an irritated look. "Her parents are _dead,_ Sion."

"Still got a brother." Sion grinned then, though it was more a snarl than a smile. "She'll be running laps 'til she makes Urgot look good, don't worry."

Riven's eyes narrowed as she looked back to her substitute training partner. Katarina was, of course, doing her best impression of looking bored and not at all like she would have dragged her ass out of that mansion at the crack of dawn to be at the training rooms. 

"That's not what I'm worried about at all."

Katarina finally deigned to look across at Riven, a tiny smirk curling the corner of her mouth. Despite her suspicions, Riven felt a thrill run down her spine, electric and heated. 

"Live steel," Katarina said, her tone lazy and low as Sion made his way to the edge of the mats. She cocked her head, her smirk openly challenging now. "Unless Noxus' favourite daughter is scared, of course."

Riven scoffed. Scared? Of a self-involved brat? Her only concern was that her runesword would cleave Katarina crown to toe if her opponent miscalculated even slightly, but it was so rare that her opponent offered to wear such a risk in a training match. Riven's palm practically itched for her runesword's grip, so after a few moments, she relented. 

"If you die, it's really your own fool fault." Riven smirked back at Katarina, tossing her wooden practice sword to the side and looking back to where her runesword had been stowed at the edge of the training rooms. 

Perhaps it was the added risk involved, perhaps it was the use of their primary weapons, but the ensuing round was nothing like all those that had gone before. Katarina darted and moved beneath Riven's blade, sliding under blows that should have connected as though incorporeal. With the girl's liberal use of shunpo, finally Riven was beginning to push her limits. 

Finally, she was getting what she'd wanted from her sessions with Sion's best. 

By the time Sion called the match, Riven was panting, her hair slicked back with sweat and bleeding in at least a dozen different places. Katarina herself was bruised and winded, looking ready to drop from exhaustion, but surprisingly still in one piece despite Riven's best efforts. 

"Better," Riven gasped out as she leaned on her runesword, running her fingertips through her damp hair. Maybe she was smiling, but given how she could no longer feel her body, she couldn't particularly tell. 

"What did you expect, golden girl?" Katarina shot back, somehow still managing to sound derisive despite her short breath. Riven laughed. 

Perhaps it was worth asking Katarina to become a more permanent fixture on Sion's roster.

###

"A transfer," Riven repeated, completely disbelieving as she stared across at Sion. "Arryn got a transfer."

Sion, to his credit, actually looked as though he was questioning it this time. He stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger, his expression thoughtful. 

"Papers say it's from this morning." The man's eyes flickered across to Katarina, who of course was standing next to him, sharpening more of her knives. "Rather short notice."

Katarina merely shrugged. 

"Apparently it was urgent," she said, her tone entirely bored. "Whatever. I'm here now, and she's not. Let's just get to it already."

Riven shot Katarina a narrow, suspicious glance as she shouldered her practice sword. Arryn's strange transfer still bothered her, but given how her last few matches with Katarina had gone, Riven wasn't going to complain too vocally.

###

_This is getting out of hand,_ Riven decided as she entered the training rooms, runesword in slung over her shoulder. Ava was the absolute last person Riven had expected to simply drop out of Sion's training cycle - she was damn good, and she took the whole thing at least as serious as Riven did. 

Given the giddy crush Ava additionally harboured for Riven - really, it was incredibly hard to miss - the girl's absence from the training rooms was especially telling, even had Riven's other partners not been dropping like flies. 

Of course, Katarina was standing at Sion's side. What more could Riven expect by now?

As Riven approached Sion and Katarina, she couldn't help but notice her substitute training partner's expression was bland and completely innocent. It put Riven's back up, and for a gut-clenching moment, she very much suspected that Katarina had killed Ava.

Eying Katarina off, Riven found she still couldn't discount that possibility, either. 

Still looking entirely too innocent, Katarina spread her hands, her gaze unwavering on Riven's as she offered her usual backhanded greeting.

"Took you long enough to show up, golden -"

"You can't be serious," Riven cut in, running feverish fingers through her hair. Katarina hadn't even bothered offering an excuse for Ava!

Katarina's eyes narrowed immediately. "What exactly at you implying?"

Riven didn't blink as she cast a considering look up and down the substitute training partner who really had no intention of being just a substitute at all. 

"I think you know exactly what I'm saying," Riven said, her tone dry. She looked across to Sion then, who had so far remained silent, a small smile on his lips. She was starting to believe that the man had been in on the whole fiasco, too. 

She wanted to bury her face in her hands. Of _course_ he had been. And now that she was looking closer, she could make out the barely-hidden trace of magical burns across Katarina's exposed midriff. 

Riven sighed, understanding what the whole thing had been about now - even back during the second time Katarina had filled in for Theo and his upset stomach. She turned on her heel to leave. 

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Katarina called out from behind Riven, her voice harsh and demanding. "Are you telling me you'd rather fight a fangirl than somebody who gives you a real challenge?" 

Riven rolled her eyes. Given Katarina's current behaviour, she wasn't sure there was a great deal of difference between her and Ava, anyway. 

She knew better than to say as much, however. Instead, she heaved a sigh and said, "That's not an excuse for sabotaging my training partners."

Riven heard Katarina snarl something she was glad she didn't quite catch, but she didn't break her stride until she reached the home barracks she knew Ava's company was calling home after their tour of the Demacian border. 

She was not surprised in the least to find Ava very much alive, but pinned to the barracks weatherboards with a slew of knives in her clothing. When she saw Riven, she began to struggle, muffled curses forced out from behind the twist of cloth she'd been gagged with. 

Riven sighed again, pulling out the knife Katarina had nailed her with during their first bout, weeks ago now. 

Of course it bloody matched, right down to the Du Couteau symbol etched into the hilt. From behind her, Riven heard Katarina scoff, as though disgusted with the entire situation. Ava, in the meantime, looked absolutely _terrified_ by the reappearance of her assailant. 

_You cannot be serious, Katarina._ Riven turned back with a flat stare. 

Katarina had the nerve to actually look offended by the silent accusation. "Don't look at _me_ , this was not my fault." 

Her tone didn't waver, her expression didn't flicker - she was a good liar, and had the evidence not been completely overwhelming, Riven might have began to doubt herself. Stifling the urge to smile, Riven turned away, done with the entire fiasco. She was sorry Ava had gotten mixed up in the whole thing, though. She hoped the girl's squadmates would cut her down soon. 

"Of course," Riven said, her voice entirely neutral. 

Apparently neutral was not what Katarina was looking for. "Those aren't my knives." 

Riven didn't deign to reply, simply continuing back toward Sion and the training courts. It was difficult not to laugh, but somehow she managed to keep a straight face. She had an idea of how to fix things, however. 

She's been considering it for a long while now.

"You realise it's just a coincidence." Katarina's voice was heated, her frustration at Riven's lack of belief in her lies evident. "You can't prove anything-"

"Do you want to be one of my sparring partners?" Riven broke in, and in all honesty, Katarina's reaction was _worth_ the weeks of exasperation that had preceded it. The flushed cheeks, the hurried look away -

Well. Perhaps there actually was a teenage girl beneath all that sneering self-confidence.

"You _have_ been hard up on partners recently." Katarina's voice was perfectly - and tellingly - controlled when she finally replied. She shrugged as though it didn't matter, as though it hadn't been the damn point all along. "I suppose I can take mercy on you." 

Feigned attitude aside, the corner of Katarina's mouth curled upwards in the moments that she believed Riven's attention was elsewhere. Not a smirk, not a grin, but a genuine _smile_. 

Riven decided then that she definitely wouldn't mind seeing more of that smile, but as she continued back to the training rooms with her new training partner, a thought struck her.

 _Gods only know how she's going to be when I ask her out for a drink, though,_ Riven sighed silently. She'd cross that entitled, overly territorial bridge when she came to it.

**Author's Note:**

> I am really, really sorry. :D
> 
>  
> 
> ~~lies, i am never sorry~~


End file.
